her room and then given a little tour of our clinic before she was brought to my office. My head nurse. Nadine Gordon, took her around. We always tried to give the patients a sense of security, a sense of comfort before we began any formal therapy and treatment. It's not easy for a healthy person to leave home and find himself or herself in a strange new world, much less someone who was already quite fragile and unpredictable.
Nurse Gordon knocked an my door and then brought Grace into my office.
"This is Dr. Claude De Beers," she said. She always introduced me with such pomp and
circumstance in her voice that made me feel, and I'm sure my new patient feel, as if I sat atop a mountain.
When I told her she always introduced me as though I was someone high and mighty, she replied. 'That's what they should think of you. Doctor. The more confidence a patient has in her doctor, the better chance she has of becoming well," she advised. She was not above lecturing even me.
She was very hard on the younger psychiatrists who tried to be pals with their patients. Most of them were actually afraid of her.
You can just imagine what she came to think of my relationship with your mother, but that's something I'll talk about later. I feel like a schoolboy who is so excited about getting out his story, he can't keep himself from jumping ahead. (A bit of selfanalysis here. I'm afraid. The inherent danger of being a psychiatrist.) I hope, whenever you're reading this, that this little footnote brings a smile to your face. 'Willow.
"Hello. Grace." I said. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."
Your mother looked up at me with eyes that spoke volumes. Page one was full of skepticism. Why would I look forward to meeting her? Why wou
ld anyone? I could see the questions so clearly, I actually heard them as well,
"Dr. De Beers said hello," Nurse Gordon told her, as if she were my translator.
"That will be all," I said, dismissing her. "Thank you Ms. Gordon,"
She gave me her sharp professional gaze for a moment and then softened, permitted her lips to weaken into a small smile, and left the office, taking so long to close the door, she appeared reluctant to do so. I could see the way Grace watched her every move. That told me her being introverted did not keep her from being observant and aware of her
surroundings.
"Won't you sit here," I said, nodding at the sofa. "It's more comfortable."
I didn't like sitting behind my desk, especially when I spoke to my patients. It made me feel I was behind some wall and very distant from them. You remember how big my desk was, too. Even a man my size looks wrapped in wood.
She sat and I sat across from her.
"Oh, would you like something to drink. Grace, soda, juice. water?" I asked her.
She shook her head. I remember immediately being captured by those eyes, the softest turquoise eyes I had ever seen, beautiful, vulnerable,
desperately searching for someone to trust, another heart in which to place her hopes and dreams safely. At that moment she reminded me of a small bird, so helpless and vet so capable of love, so eager to soar, perhaps right under that lonely cloud had seen earlier.
"We should first simply get to know each other," I told her. "I know a little about you, of course, but I am hoping you will tell me much more."
She waited, shifting her eyes nervously to avoid mine. Isn't it interesting how no one likes to be stared at normally. Willow? People who are suffering inside especially hate being observed. I looked at her file and tried at first to speak to her without looking at her directly, hoping that would put her at some ease. But I must also tell you that was difficult for me. for I wanted to look at her very much,
"My, you did travel a lot when you were younger, didn't you? All these places, all these new schools to attend, new friends to make. It must have been hard for you when you were so young. I know it would have been for me." I said. "I was fortunate in that we lived where my father's father lived and in fact, my great-grandfather as well. I'm still living there, in fact," I told her. "But you..." I shook my head.
And for the first time her eyes widened with a little interest and her eyebrows rose.
"Matter of fact," I continued. "I don't think I know anyone who has moved around as much as you have. You're the first Gypsy in my office," I added, and she smiled.
For me that first breakthrough with a patient is always the most delicious and satisfying.
"My daddy called us Gypsies."
"Did he? Tell me about him. He was a commander in the Naval Air Force, a helicopter pilot?"
"Yes."
"I can't imagine him liking being away from you and your mother so often."